


The Things We Do

by Carrogath



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 08:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrogath/pseuds/Carrogath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 9:42 Dragon, Leliana is accused by the Chantry of rigging the Divine election results. Cassandra is shocked and horrified. Josephine, somehow, is not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things We Do

It was the summer of 9:42 Dragon. Josephine had invited Cassandra into her office on account of the latest Chantry scandal—the results of the Divine election had been skewed. Of all things, she had set aside some tea and biscuits between the two armchairs in the middle of the room. Rather than comforting her, the setup discomfited her. Josephine was clearly intending for this to be a long discussion.

Josephine stood up from her desk. “Cassandra! I was waiting for you.”

“I hope I’m not too late.”

“Not at all. Come,” she said, patting down an armchair, “sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

“Will what you’re about to tell me make me uncomfortable?”

“That depends.”

Cassandra sat and awkwardly poured herself some tea. “On what?”

“On how you feel about Leliana.”

She closed her eyes, and then opened them again. “I think I know where this is going.”

“Do I still need to tell you, then?”

“Please,” she said. “What she did was so egregious that even I have a hard time believing it was her.”

“All right,” said Josephine. She poured herself a cup of tea and sat down. “Where do I begin…”

 

* * *

 

Josephine was in the middle of changing when she heard the knock on her door.

“Josie, are you free? I wanted to talk.” Never mind how Leliana knew she was in her quarters, she rarely ever felt the need to address matters in person. Whatever it was, it was either very urgent or very personal.

“I’ll be out in one moment,” she said, loud enough so that the recipient would hear, but hopefully not to the extent that anyone else would.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No,” she said, hushed. She gathered loose waves of hair into her hands, pulling them into a sorry excuse for a chignon at the back of her neck. Then she approached the door, which to Leliana remained locked more out of courtesy than necessity. Thankfully, dressing down required much less time than dressing up. She would not have her wait.

Maker knew Leliana was terrible at waiting.

Josephine undid the lock, and then opened the door.

“Oh,” Leliana said. “I didn’t realize you were already going to sleep.”

“I have as much time as you need,” she insisted. “What did you wanted to discuss?” She paused. “And besides, I usually find a thousand other things to do before retiring for the night. We have so many allies to manage nowadays—and so much infighting.”

“Is there anything you need help with?”

“Oh, no. We have so few competitors that most of them will compose themselves with less than a nudge. Even Val Royeaux has not forgotten that we are all that stands between them and that terrifying future.”

Leliana glanced around her room. “May I come inside?”

“Of course.” Josephine stepped back, giving her space enough to cross the threshold.

The ambassador’s quarters were neither lavish nor sparse. Scattered about the room were gifts sent to the Inquisition, either by carrier or delivered in person, as tokens of goodwill. A few of them had been addressed specifically to the ambassador. Others were simply oddities and things that she could not bear to throw out, but that served as little more than paperweights and decorative objects. Here was a map of the eastern seas from Antiva; there was a ceremonial chalice from Nevarra; a statuette of Andraste from the Chantry in Montsimmard stood blasphemously beside an icon from Tevinter, arranged in haste during one bleary, sleep-deprived night.

Leliana peered down at the miscellany cluttering her writing desk. “I see you’ve assembled quite the collection here.”

“They came pouring in after we attended the talks at the Winter Palace. Someone must have told the Inquisition’s allies that I am fond of… miniatures.”

“Yvette,” she said, and smiled wryly. Something on the table caught her eye—a homely wooden carving not of anyone in particular, but of a bouquet of Andraste’s grace. They sprouted forth from a wooden base, enshrined in an archway not more than two inches high.

“How curious.” Leliana reached out to touch it, and then restrained herself.

“From Lydes,” she said. “A gift from Baron Desjardins. They say Andraste’s grace grows in abundance there.”

“It’s quaint for Orlais.” She looked at it. “May I pick it up?”

“Please do.”

She picked it up with one gloved hand, and then, after a moment, placed it back onto the table and removed her gloves. She weighed it in her palms. “It might look rough, but this is actually ironwood. Only the Dalish really know how to shape it. Perhaps it was intentional, though. Carving ironwood is like chiseling marble.” She held it against the candlelight. “Look how many there are.”

“Would you like to keep it?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“I really wouldn’t mind parting with it.”

Her brows drew together. “Are you certain?”

“I know you are fond of Andraste’s grace, and you’re certainly more knowledgeable about this piece than I am.”

“All right,” she murmured, and pocketed it in such a way that Josephine could not see where she had put it.

“Did you come here simply to steal my things,” Josephine said, not without affection, “or was there another reason?”

“I suppose there’s no point in delaying it any longer,” she sighed. “It’s cold out. Bring a coat.”

 

* * *

 

Skyhold was quiet at this time in the evening. Up on the battlements, guardsmen made rounds on their patrols, and the vast majority of people had gone to their quarters for the night. Only the night watch remained awake—and Leliana, naturally, ever vigilant.

Josephine followed her from the apartments down into the deserted main hall. Their footsteps echoed in the silence.

“I’m thinking about going back to Valence.” Leliana moved with a nervous energy, and Josephine had to quicken her pace to keep up.

“Weren’t you just there?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Josephine paused as they approached the doorway leading into the main courtyard. “What do you mean?”

She turned around. “I’ve been thinking about returning to the Chantry—not as the Left Hand, but as a sister. A cloistered nun.”

Her brow furrowed. “A cloistered nun?”

“Does it sound that ridiculous to you? I was one, once.”

“I…” She paused. “When did you…”

“It’s crossed my mind every now and again.” She walked back toward the long rows of tables, their candles snuffed out. Moonlight filtered in from behind the Inquisitor’s throne. “Mother Giselle was not exactly thrilled about the idea, when I asked her about it.”

“Why not?”

“She believes that this is just some passing fancy, that I’ll grow tired of doing nothing but praying and serving the poor all day. She thinks I’ll involve myself in something scandalous and the Chantry mother will kick me out anyway.”

“Not without precedent,” Josephine said, a little too bluntly. “Leliana, you were not born to pray for ten hours a day. That sort of life will make you restless.”

“Perhaps I need that sort of discipline.”

She sighed. “The real question is whether you actually want it.” Moonlight glinted off of a stray candlestick; she arranged it on the table unconsciously. “You are not Cassandra or Cullen. You cannot bear being ordered around. You left the Chantry in Lothering because you thought the Maker was telling you to stop the Fifth Blight!”

“Not without reason—”

“My point is that no matter how religious you may be—and I’ve no doubt that you are—you have better ways of expressing it.” Josephine leaned against the table. “I know you. If you are bored, you cannot even sit still for five minutes straight without trying to disrupt whatever is happening. I can’t even imagine how you might have felt back then, but I hardly doubt that you were as rambunctious as you are now.”

“Is that really how you see me?” asked Leliana, suddenly curious.

“Sera would not speak so highly of you otherwise. You and she are kindred spirits. You go out into the city, you devise completely inappropriate pranks, you lie, you cheat, you steal, you seduce girls,” she went on, flapping her hand, “and moreover, everyone loves you for it, because they all wish they could do the same, and just as equally escape without consequence.”

“You almost sound as if you approve of it,” she said, smiling.

“I do—well, to an extent, and under specific circumstances…” She paused, frowning. “If I am to be quite honest, I would prefer that you remain within the intelligence community. Your skills are without peer.” She paused again. “Though I have the sense that you’re not happy with where you are.”

“It isn’t as fun as you’re making it sound, for one.” Leliana drifted around to the other side of the table.

“I know that.”

“I issue orders that require absolute trust from my agents, even while knowing that none of them can—or should—be trusted fully. I speak to people in complete confidence knowing that the information might be stolen. I ask that my subordinates do as I say, entirely aware that one day I may have to silence them for good. Nothing is ever protected, and nothing is ever private.” She paused and exhaled. “And even if you threaten them, it is useless, because they are all prepared to die.” She shook her head and leaned over the table and looked at her. “Enough about me, then. What about you?”

“What about me?” Josephine parroted, feeling foolish.

“Are you content with your lot in life?”

“I am… not displeased, if that is what you are asking. I suppose I will go back home and manage the family estate once this is all over—presuming it is ever over, but I should hope that it will be one day.”

“That’s what I thought.” She walked around the table toward Josephine again. “It’s good of you to stay that way, then—that nothing has happened to change your mind.”

“I…” She frowned a little. “What are you trying to say?”

“Me?” She looked down. “No, it’s nothing. Maybe we should…” Leliana’s eyes flickered up to hers. “Can you keep a secret?”

 

* * *

 

Josephine must have been up to her elbows in flour.

“You didn’t tell me you were hungry.”

“I’m not. I’m bored,” said Leliana, scouring the recipe. “If we had thought about it ahead of time we might have been able to make something more interesting than hot spiced buns.”

“Why are we baking again?”

“Your cheeks were looking a little hollow. I thought we might be able to plump them up again.”

Her face flushed hot. She stopped kneading the dough to look up at her. “Excuse me?”

She grinned. “Have you been getting enough to eat lately?”

“I didn’t realize we came here to talk about my weight,” she said, suddenly and crushingly embarrassed.

“I’m kidding, Josie!” She touched her on shoulder. “You’re lovely as you are.”

“I’m sure that’s what you say to all the girls,” she groaned.

“Do I really seem like such a brazen flirt to you?”

“You flirted with me all the time when we were younger,” Josephine murmured, dividing the dough into smaller pieces. “Here,” she said, and slid them across the table to her, “put currants in these.”

“Did I?”

“You probably don’t remember. Men, women, elves, dwarfs—race or creed or gender never mattered to you.” She rolled out one of the smaller clumps and put a few currants in the center before enclosing them in the dough. Then she pinched the top. “I’d heard about Marjolaine—just barely—and then when you came back to Val Royeaux you acted as if you’d never even heard the name.”

She chuckled dryly. “Did I.”

“My apologies,” she muttered, “I suppose it came to mind since we were baking.”

“Oh,” said Leliana. “Like the dessert.”

“Yes, like the dessert.”

They looked at each other for one dumbstruck moment, and then Leliana laughed. “I never realized! I…” She looked away. “Come to think of it, she was quite fond of almond pralines. She always had some, and whenever I asked, she would give them to me. We would share them.” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “Marjolaine…”

“You’ve never told me much about her,” Josephine said cautiously.

“She almost killed me,” she said. “There’s not much to say about a woman like that. If she’s still alive somewhere, I hope she has the good sense to stay away from the Inquisition.” Her hands were so taut she nearly squashed one of the buns. “I had half a mind to swear off women after that. At least I can tell when a man is about to betray me.”

“Really?”

“They can’t hide it.” She looked down at the clumps of dough. “Not as well, at least.”

“Are we going to do the swirl?”

Leliana furrowed her brow. “What swirl?”

“You know, for the sun.”

“I didn’t realize we were making sun buns.”

“My mother never liked them. She called them ‘Tranquil buns.’”

“Tranquil buns! Maker. It’s too hard to form the shortcrust into that shape, anyway. We can just put these into the oven and be done with it.”

They slipped the batch into the oven to bake.

“Are we really going to eat all of these?” asked Josephine.

“They’ll be good until tomorrow, at least.”

She leaned against the wall. “Now you’re really going to make me worry about my weight.”

“Maker, Josie, why? You’re gorgeous. Is that the fashion in Antiva now, to walk around looking like a half-starved prisoner?”

“No, I mean…” She groaned. “Never mind.”

“The Fereldans, you know, they all looked so thin after the Blight. Even the dukes and arls—even those who should have had plenty—everyone had such long, empty faces. Then you went to Orlais, and everyone had full, flushed cheeks. They all looked so healthy! And obviously the marquises, the comtes, they had more than enough to eat. I spent some of that time after the Blight smuggling food into Ferelden, to the chapels, so no one would starve. Crackers, nuts, ale, jerky, anything that would keep.”

Josephine looked at her. “Were you all right?”

“I obviously survived. The Deep Roads were the worst, though. It was nothing but deepstalker and nug meat for days. I was stupid enough to refuse the nug meat for a while—couldn’t bear the thought of eating one—but it came to the point where I had no choice if I wanted to survive. We needed the protein to fight against all the darkspawn. It was terrible,” she laughed, “stuck with Oghren and Morrigan… and then there was the Warden, trying to keep all of us from killing each other, or ourselves. People who have been through that,” she said, “they tend to hoard food. You never know when you might find yourself without.”

“I can’t imagine,” she said.

Leliana smiled wryly. “You really can’t.” Her eyes lingered on Josephine’s face, and then past it. She took a tentative step toward her, and reached out. “Your hair.”

Josephine reached back and felt it. She had pulled her hair together so hastily she wasn’t surprised it was falling apart. “I’ll—”

“No, let me fix it. I miss doing your hair.”

“But…” Leliana stared her down. “Fine,” she said. “Let us find some seats.”

They managed to procure two stools after searching the kitchen, and sat a little ways from the wood-fired oven. Leliana took down her hair and combed it through her fingers—Josephine sat up at the touch, no one had done this with her for months, probably years by now—and then she stopped.

“Sorry, there are a few knots.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“I didn’t realize since you always put your hair up… You have so much of it,” Leliana said, admiringly. “Cassandra’s only taken her braid down once or twice in front of me. It’s tied in the back—it’s thin, so it splays out from one point—but she looks so different without it.” She took a few plaits between her fingers. “Would you like me to braid yours?”

“Oh,” said Josephine, and she had been so absorbed in the sound of her voice that she had forgot what she had said. “Yes, please.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while.

“You’ve been quiet,” said Leliana, finally.

“You’ve been talkative,” she replied. “If I go on about myself, I’ll never be able to hear you speak.”

“I like hearing you speak.”

“I would prefer to listen to you.”

“Really?” she sighed, and her breath prickled Josephine’s skin. “You would prefer to listen to the ramblings of some delusional Chantry nun?”

“You are not.”

“Compared to you, I might as well be.” Leliana’s fingers were nimble, twisting the plaits much faster and more easily than Josephine could have done on her own. “I’m just… afraid that something is going to happen and we won’t be able to be together anymore.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, nervous now that she couldn’t see her face.

“I don’t know. If—if something happens to me, because of my work, then I could… Sorry. I really am rambling.”

“Leliana?”

She was quiet until she finishing braiding.

“There,” she said. “It’s done.”

Josephine turned around. Leliana, quite suddenly, looked upset. “Are you…”

“Sorry. I was thinking, for some reason, about the House of Repose. Do you remember? And you were almost killed under _my_ watch. It drove me insane, that whole day. If I can’t even protect you—if I can’t even protect my best friend—then what is the point in my being here?” She reached out, reluctantly at first, and then clutched Josephine’s wrists. “It’s stupid, but I’m afraid to lose you.”

“It… It isn’t stupid.” She exhaled, and as she relaxed, so did Leliana.

“No, it is. I mean that the way Sera means it—it’s absurd. I would go to… utterly outrageous lengths to protect you,” she muttered, nervously, and her hands lingered on Josephine’s wrists before moving up to her shoulders. “It’s not all right. I can’t…” Her hands shook. “I’m struggling not to see you as a strength, and not a liability.”

Josephine moved her hands up to place them on Leliana’s own. “You ought to calm down and take a moment to compose yourself, first.”

Her grip tightened. Josephine winced. “No, that is what you would do. I do awful things when I am calm. When I am calm, I am murderous. No,” she said, clutching her shoulders and looking down, “I must tell you something.”

“Leliana,” she said again, anxiously, “whatever it is—”

“Please listen to me.”

“All right,” she said, and sat up, and Leliana’s grip relaxed a little. “What on earth is it?”

“When I came to your quarters, I… I lost my nerve.” She swallowed, absently. “It was… What I wanted to ask was whether you might want to take a trip together, after all of this, and things had calmed down. But I couldn’t. Instead I gave you this completely unrelated nonsense about how I was going to give myself into the cloister at Valence and—Andraste,” she swore, “this should not be so hard.”

“Take your time,” Josephine said, calm but for the hammering in her chest.

“I…” she looked down, “I couldn’t tell you because it wasn’t true. That isn’t all I wanted.”

“Oh,” she said, and then, “oh.”

“It would be awful,” she said. “Someone would just… knife you while you slept at night, all because you’d been seen with me.” Her expression hardened. “I’m not going to do that to you. I would never put you in danger!”

“Leliana,” she said, uselessly, and then she spoke over her.

“Just please,” she said, finally, and slid her hands down Josephine’s arms to clasp hers in her own, “please, tell me it was a stupid idea and that you want nothing to do with it. We can move on and forget about it. Maker, this evening has dragged on for too long.”

“I…” Josephine started, and then realized she didn’t know what to say. “What else… did you want?”

Leliana looked up at her, and smiled, so tightly and so hungrily that it warmed her whole body. “Josie,” she said, “you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Something spicy filled her nostrils—cinnamon and nutmeg, and the scent of burning toast.

“The buns. They’ll burn!”

 

* * *

 

“Maker preserve us,” said Leliana.

A few of them appeared marginally edible, at least, although several had burned.

“I don’t suppose your birds enjoy the flavor of burned bread?”

“They’re ravens. They’ll pick at rotting animals.” She sighed and poked at one of the blackened buns. “They’ll eat it, if that is how you must make use of them.”

“I… avoided your question,” said Josephine. “You can’t tell me that wasn’t an excuse.”

“But a fair one, perhaps. We still had to put out the fire.”

“I suppose.” Josephine looked down, distracted. “I mean, I don’t know—of course you know I’ve considered it, but…”

“You’re allowed to tell me no.”

“And if I tell you yes?” Her eyes flickered up to Leliana’s, made contact. She looked away.

“Don’t. That’s all I’m going to say about that.”

“Why bother asking if you’ve already convinced yourself of the answer?”

“I don’t… because I do want to know,” she said, and began to move around the room. “Even if nothing will come of it. How much, and when you knew—things like that, that we could never talk about or say to each other because we were always too afraid to raise the question. But the assassination attempt already happened, and that was my worst fear. Well, no, not quite…”

“Then what is?”

“That I’ll become a monster, and you’ll hate me,” she said, entirely too composed for the words that were leaving her mouth. “But I do not feel so monstrous anymore. I don’t think… Well, I have done terrible things, and you would hate me if I told you, since no good has come out of them.” Leliana paused at the corner of the table, staring down at it. “I wish we could go back to the way we were before. But what was that, really?” She looked up.

“That… was in the past,” she said, carefully, “and now we are here in the present. And, to be clear, that assassination attempt was in no way your fault.”

“I let an assassin sneak into _your_ office—”

“Yet here I stand before you, alive and well.”

“Just… tell me,” she said, impatient. “I worked up the nerve to say it, so tell me. Unless you haven’t made up your mind, in which case everything I’ve told you so far has been pointless.”

“I’m…” She looked down at the table, unwilling to make eye contact. “I do miss it. Not that we don’t still do it, but I miss the freedom to wander about Val Royeaux without being recognized—without being part of the Inquisition. And you, well…” She shook her head. “You are a woman of covert and, shall we say, unconventional means. Realistically, being with you would mean allowing myself to become vulnerable to your enemies, and we both know how your enemies tend to operate.”

“But how do you feel?”

“I love you,” she said, so frankly she surprised herself. “I suppose I do. I would be happy with you, at incredible risk to myself. Antivans are supposed to love danger and excitement—and they also manage to hurt themselves doing infuriatingly asinine things. I am… really no different, in that regard.”

“You do?” said Leliana, and all of a sudden she was standing beside her.

Josephine looked up. She felt surprisingly placid. “Must I say it again?”

“No,” she said. She was quiet, at a loss for words, and then, “Was that a yes?”

Later, Josephine would admit to not remembering how it really happened—who made the first move, as it were—Leliana would swear to the Maker that it was Josephine who had kissed _her_ , but she had no memory of it; after that it was just Leliana, Leliana, Leliana, and she lost herself in her.

 

* * *

 

When Josephine woke up in her quarters the next morning, the little ironwood carving of Andraste’s grace was on her writing desk, in the same spot it had always been. She nearly thought herself delusional for believing it had been moved at all. Underneath the base there was a brief note, insufferably vague as per usual for the spymaster: _I lied._

About what, she wondered.

The day passed without incident. The Inquisition was gaining ground in the Arbor Wilds. The last of the Red Templars had been chased out of the Emerald Graves, and supposedly the Emprise was not far behind. Cullen had cautioned against premature celebration, but much of Skyhold was preparing for a party, and Josephine wasn’t exactly shying away from the idea. She allowed her mind to wander as she went about her day—what new furnishings she could order, the plates, the cups, the food… They would cook up a feast, slaughter their best hog, sing and dance and celebrate after over a year’s worth of torturing themselves over yet another supposed apocalypse.

She sighed. Premature or not, she would rather think of that than anything else.

To her surprise, she was free in the afternoon, and it was while she was reading over old letters and correspondences that Leliana entered her office looking especially grave.

“You were probably wondering what… all of that was about,” said Leliana, lingering over her desk.

“If you’re going to tell me,” she said, doubtful.

“First, you should know something about that ironwood carving.”

“The one that you returned to my desk? What about it?”

“It is, in fact, of Dalish origin. There’s some words at the bottom written in Dalish. I took it to have the words translated—in case the baron was trying to send us a message—but it turned out to nothing more than a verse from the Canticle of Shartan.”

“Really.” Her voice was flat. “Why would the baron send me something like that?”

“He probably received it secondhand. He didn’t even realize the carving was Dalish—it’s Andrastian, after all.”

Josephine pushed herself out of her seat, and stood. “Would you mind telling me what you lied to me about?”

“You’re going to hate me,” Leliana warned her.

She scoffed. “I’m beginning to think that was your intention from the start.”

 

* * *

 

Josephine followed her down into the catacombs. They were poorly-lit and musty, though the ancient elven magics that filled all of Skyhold had kept them in remarkably good condition. It did little, however, to allay her growing sense of claustrophobia.

“Why in the catacombs?”

“No one ever goes down here. You could hide a dead body, and no one would discover it for days.”

Josephine frowned.

“Sorry. That was in poor taste.” Leliana sighed, wandering in circles. “Where do I begin… I don’t want anyone to hear us, for one. What I’m about to tell you isn’t exactly… It would cause quite the commotion, if the wrong person heard.”

“That’s the case for several things you’ve had to say to me.”

“Well then,” she said, “you have no reason to be surprised.”

“Does this have something to do with that ironwood carving?”

“In a sense. It caught my eye when I was looking into your room—before I went in and picked it up—I was going to give this entire lecture about Shartan, and about elves who freely abandoned their religion to become Andrastian, how they were so brave to convert, and how it was so unfair that we allowed them to be stepped on and pushed about by humans when it has been so long since they’ve united themselves well enough to fight us… And about other things too.” Leliana paused. “It was ridiculous, though. Too many secrets. I lost my nerve. I forgot what I was even going to tell you after a while.”

“Which was?”

“I, well… We began to talk about so many different things, and I was so distracted from what I was working up to that I decided to the Void with it, and turned it into a confession of sorts. It was… an atrocious move, in hindsight. I should have never had done it.”

“Why?” said Josephine, scowling. “What’s happening?”

“I have heard from a number of very reliable sources that I am going to become the Divine.”

Her blood ran cold. “No,” she said. “Why would you…”

“I got carried away. I’m so sorry. It was true, what I was planning, before this all happened—everything I told you has been true for me at least once. I would have loved to take some time off and travel with you, maybe to Antiva, or to other parts of Orlais. Honestly, after everything happened, I was hoping that finally telling you would lead you to swear me off forever, and then you’d have nothing to worry about but a broken heart.”

“It doesn’t work that way!” Josephine shouted, unable to contain herself. “I can’t believe you! Why… Why would you do this? If you’re going to become the Divine, just tell me. We…” She turned away. “Why would you confess to me if you couldn’t even keep your word?”

She was silent. Then, “It was terribly selfish of me, and I won’t ask you to forgive me.”

Josephine massaged her temples with one hand. “Andraste guide this woman…” She looked at Leliana. “Was this really your intention? Were you trying to make me hate you so I wouldn’t miss you when you became the Divine?”

“I…” She hesitated. “That could have been a part of it. I never said my plan was very good, or very clear.”

“This might be one of the few times where I’m hoping your plan doesn’t succeed.” She groaned. “What am I going to do with you, Leliana? We can’t pretend that last night never happened!” She shook her head. “That’s what’s going to happen, though, isn’t it? We’ll pretend that it never happened, and the memories will be so unbearable that we’ll never be able to talk about it again.”

Leliana was quiet.

“You didn’t have to lie to me. I would have understood.”

“But then you would have never told me how you feel.”

“You don’t know that! This… This is the problem with you. You are so spontaneous—you act so freely and so hastily that you don’t even take into account how other people might feel. That might make you a phenomenal spy, but it makes you a terrible person.” She held back tears. “I can’t believe you.”

“I… understand.” She took a step back.

“No,” Josephine argued, “you don’t. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen to us. I knew… I knew you wouldn’t tell me if something dramatic was happening, but that’s exactly the case here. Exactly! You would break my heart, and run away from your problems—you know Isabela, of course you know her, of the Eastern Raiders? I gave her six bottles of Antivan wine and she told me the story of how she asked Hawke to fulfill a request of hers and then _ran_ from her for three whole years because she was afraid she’d never be able to face her again, because she had betrayed her trust and wasn’t willing to face the consequences. Is that how long it’s going to take? Three years?”

“No…” She had nothing to argue with. “Josephine,” and she never called her that, “that’s why I…”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it. In the catacombs, in the middle of a mountain, where no one can hear us fight.” She sighed. She was sighing so much today. She covered her face. “What is it, Leliana,” she said through her hands. “How are you going to fix this. And don’t tell me you’re going to sabotage your own chances.”

“It crossed my mind. Admittedly. I could disappear for a while, and not come back until they decided to pick the first runner-up—that would be Cassandra—”

“That’s besides the point,” she intercepted. “The point is that you lied to me when you could have told me the simple truth. That you love me. That you’re going to become the Divine. And not after…”

“I used you.”

“Yes,” said Josephine, staring directly at her. “You did.”

“Is there… What can I do to earn back your trust? I only brought you here to tell you what you had to hear… and to listen to what you had to say.” Leliana looked up at her, and her eyes were hard. “I’m not going to run.”

 

* * *

 

“I could have slapped her,” Josephine sighed, setting her teacup down. “You would not believe how I felt about it the next day, to even consider giving her a second chance.”

“I understand that the Grand Clerics are re-evaluating the vote right now,” Cassandra said, sipping at her tea. “They claim that some of the votes were forgeries. I have no idea how anyone would be able to do that—then again not even I am aware of the whole process.”

“But Leliana would know,” she said, and groaned. “I’m sure it was her. I _know_ it was her; she had to be aware that her supporters are hardly the type to be scrupulous.”

“Why do you think Leliana would have sabotaged her own…” Josephine silenced her with a harsh glance. “Well, then,” said Cassandra, looking askance. “How did she make it up to you? You haven’t told me yet.”

“I told her that if you are going to become the Divine after all, then you must achieve your goal through honest means, and…” she looked to the side, “that doesn’t seem to have been the case. I wouldn’t be surprised if she herself leaked the information, so that the investigation would ever happen in the first place.”

“What if she doesn’t want to become the Divine?”

“Then that would mean you became the Divine.”

“That’s difficult to imagine, since we’ve spent the last few months talking about none other than her. She is Divine Victoria—or at least, she’s supposed to be. Maker,” she muttered, “what is even happening right now…”

“You understand why she would have done this, though?” said Josephine.

“Did she do it? Did she tell you?”

“No, not directly. But she is strongly hinting that the source of all this commotion is her own doing.”

“She cheated,” said Cassandra.

“It was either her, or her supporters. Either way, she’ll need to either flush them out or confess to the truth of the matter, and we’re still waiting on that, I suppose.”

She frowned. “Hold on a moment.”

“Yes?” Josephine looked at her.

Her eyes narrowed. “You do know, don’t you? You came here to convince me that being the Divine wouldn’t be so bad after all.”

She pressed her lips together. “I never said that.”

“You’re just as culpable as she is.” Cassandra stood. “She cheated, you’re protecting her, and on top of everything else, you’re trying to make me to agree to an arrangement I was never privy to. Aren't you?”

“What is your basis for accusing me?”

“You came here to feed me a love story,” she said, and sat back down. “So instead of feeling betrayed, I would come away satisfied that my duty to you and her was fulfilled—that I was making a sacrifice so the two of you could be happy.” She scowled. “Who set you up to this?”

“I did,” said Josephine. “Leliana has no idea of our meeting. I scheduled it precisely while she would be away in Val Royeaux. Although, from the way things are going, I doubt she will be back for some time.”

“But you know what happened.”

“I do not. Leliana still hasn’t told me the whole truth. I don’t think she knows herself what happened, exactly. If it just so happens to be that you were the true victor—oh, that is such a crude term—but if it just so happens that you were supposed to be the Divine all along, I at least wanted to prepare you for the eventuality.”

“How could it possibly be that she does not know what happened?”

“Cassandra, even she cannot know everything. I am fairly certain that Leliana never gave the direct order to have her agents forge votes for the Divine election. That isn’t like her in the least. More than likely someone under her—or someone for whom her nomination would be in their best interest—ordered it, with or without her full knowledge. We only stand to see whether she ever consciously approved of the action or not. I can easily imagine her ordering her agents to do whatever they thought necessary to have her elected, and thus some self-righteous idiot decided to rig the vote. I do not know what the Chantry would do with her in that case. Maker knows that every Chantry in Orlais has played the Game.”

“She had to have known ahead of time, at the very least.”

“But perhaps too late to stop it.”

“Why are you…”

“Why am I what?”

She groaned. “I’m accusing her of doing wrong, and I don’t even know what happened.” She shook her head. “But you trust her.”

“I trust how she feels. I do not always trust her judgment. This time, however… I do.”

“You ruined it for me,” Cassandra suddenly said.

“What?”

She looked down. “The story, I mean.” Her brow crinkled. “How does it end? Were you ever happy?”

Josephine stared at her, astonished. “Was that your real concern?”

“I mean…” She frowned. “I find all of this very confusing. Leliana is a close friend of mine. It hurts me to think that either she or her supporters would do anything as brazen as altering the election results, but…” She looked up at her again. “Can you really say you are in love with a person like that?”

“Cassandra,” she said, slowly, “if Leliana were truly that horrible of a person, and this was all her fault, then don’t you think…”

“She would have distanced herself from the situation.” She was quiet. “I would have never known.”

Josephine slouched in her armchair, which was completely unlike her. “To claim responsibility so openly is either the bravest thing she’s ever done or the stupidest; I still can’t decide.” Then she straightened up again. “In any case…”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“Were you happy?” Cassandra looked at her.

She sighed hugely and picked up her teacup. “No, I wasn’t. She did listen when I told her to clean up her act. Though, by the time she started, it was far too late. I do enjoy being with her, and I owe her so much! I would have never been given this job in the Inquisition in the first place had it not been for her, and so many opportunities have opened up for me since. She has given so much, and asked for so little.” She crooked her fingers against the cup. “Happiness is but one emotion. Love is more of a… journey, perhaps. It is akin to friendship, and yet, you never see anyone call friendship a feeling, so I do not know why… Oh,” she groaned, “I am rambling. Put simply, I am happier with her than I ever have been. But at the same time, it has cost us both a great deal. I would not deny that.”

“But…” Josephine’s answer, thoughtful was it was, did not satisfy her. “There is so much uncertainty.” She furrowed her brow. “I mean, if she is found guilty, just imagine the consequences. There is not enough time in the world to recover from that kind of shame. She would be marked down in history as a traitor!”

“That is the sort of risk she’s been known to take,” said Josephine. “It would mean nothing if she were not willing to face the consequences.”

“I still don’t believe this.” She looked away again. “So you convinced her to—to address whatever this is, whatever is going on—that was the whole cause of this? Because she betrayed your trust, and you forgave her?”

“I don’t see what you find so difficult to understand.”

“It’s… far from romantic,” Cassandra muttered, and picked up her tea and drank it. “You could have ended it at the part where you confessed, and it would have made for a much better story.”

“But it wouldn’t have been the truth,” Josephine said, smiling. “Or would you prefer the neater version, the one where nothing bad happens after the lovers consummate, and they live happily ever after? You would live in a world where Leliana has never admitted to making a mistake—and you say that you would prefer that?”

“No,” she said. “I would prefer the bitter truth over honeyed lies. Some would argue that some secrets are best left uncovered… but I have found them to be nothing but damaging.” She drained her cup, and then set it down. “Maybe I should talk to her,” she said, and stood up. “I should hear what she has to say.”

“I’m sure Leliana would be open to that.”

Cassandra wandered over to the window, and looked out over the Frostbacks. She was quiet for a while.

“Josephine,” she finally said.

She stood. “Yes?”

“I take back what I said. I think it was… a very romantic story.”

“You do?” Her voice was tinged with disbelief.

“Really,” said Cassandra, “it only proves that I have even less imagination than I had thought.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“You did.” She turned to look at her. “You changed her. I never could—but you did. What is romance,” she said, straightening up, “but achieving the impossible?”

Josephine smiled shyly. “It was not impossible.”

“So you say.”

After finishing off the tea and sweets, Cassandra bid her farewell. She left feeling strangely light.

**Author's Note:**

> Confession: I'm not a huge fan of this ship, so I was challenged by a friend to write a kind of "anti-ship" fic, one in which they get together for one night and then swear to never do it again. It started out something like that... and then the big ol' romantic in me had to turn it into this. I don't know, what do you think? Is this still a ship fic, or is it too far removed from the traditional definition to be considered one? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and please leave a comment if you liked it!


End file.
